


Twenty Seven and You've Been to Heaven

by mistyzeo



Series: Birthdays in the Winchester Tradition [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_30snapshots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthdays in the Winchester family came and went like motel rooms.  (prompt: slake)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Seven and You've Been to Heaven

Birthdays in the Winchester family came and went like motel rooms: they were there, but they weren't celebrated. They were necessary, but they weren't important. When Dean turned fourteen, dad taught him out to drive. When Sam turned eighteen, he left. When Dean turned twenty four, Sam sat alone in his dorm room with a bottle of Jack and cried.

Sam remembers a time when birthdays meant an extra scoop of ice cream at a diner, or new sneakers for school. He remembers Dean making him a card, once, but it was left behind like everything else not absolutely necessary, lost somewhere in the apartments and rented homes and two-queen motel rooms that flowed past like water.

These days, birthdays are tenuous ground. Dean doesn't like to be reminded that he's past thirty, but Sam wants to hold onto the fact as proof that Dean might live to see old age. If he's survived so long-- even with the uncomfortable truth of angel interference-- maybe Sam will. Maybe they will together.

Dean doesn't bring Sam's birthday up, but Sam knows he hasn't forgotten. He doesn't let Sam drive, but he stops for lunch without question when Sam mutters something about starting to get hungry. He buys Sam a popsicle at the gas station late in the afternoon, and it's purple. Sam loves the flavor purple.

"Don't say I never did anything for you," Dean grumbles as he starts the car, but Sam can see the tiniest smile on his lips as he glances sideways just before they pull onto the highway. Sam just shrugs and sucks on his popsicle, breaking off bits of flavored ice with his tongue.

When they check into their transient abode for the night, Dean goes out and gets food. Sam doesn't have to guess to know that he'll be back with Chinese.

It's quiet after dinner. They haven't said much all day-- haven't needed to-- and Sam's sitting at the desk that's too small to comfortable fit his frame, scanning emails from Bobby and looking at the attached scans of symbols and sigils and incantations he understands only in the most basic sense that he can read the text.

Dean's on the bed-- his bed, closer to the door-- fully dressed. His legs are crossed at the ankle, and his socks are worn through on the sole. His arms are tucked behind his head, elbows sticking up, and he's absently watching a Discovery channel special on Black Holes. Sam thinks it might not have been the most eventful birthday, but in their book that's a good thing. He's turned twenty seven without much fanfare, and he's glad for it. At least they're warm and dry and safe, and Dean might sleep through the night with the way he looks right now, drowsy and calm.

Sam has an itch under his skin, some kind of warm prickling that's sending his nerves sparking and his hands trembling, and there's a tension in his stomach that he doesn't really acknowledge until Dean has crossed the room silently and put his big, rough hands on Sam's shoulders, kneading the muscle. Sam lets out a little groan of pleasure, and then realizes he's horny as fuck, he and Dean haven't really touched each other in about a week, and Dean is definitely offering now.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean murmurs in his ear, low and intimate. "Come to bed."

Sam lets the shiver run down his spine and closes the laptop. He turns his head and Dean kisses him, slow and steady, warm lips and hot tongue and fingers cupping the back of his head, threading through his hair and making his scalp tingle.

"Yeah okay," Sam agrees, and Dean smiles against his mouth. He kisses Sam's cheek and temple and offers him a hand up that Sam doesn't need but takes anyway. Dean divests himself of his flannel shirt and tugs his t-shirt off over his head, and raises his eyebrows expectantly when he finds Sam just staring at him, raking his eyes over Dean's hard, familiar chest and stomach. Sam reaches out to touch, curling his hands around Dean's ribs, and Dean smirks at him. He goes for Sam's belt and fly, and Sam lets his jeans hang off his hips as he follows Dean across the room. Dean pushes his shirt off his shoulders and Sam lets him pull the undershirt off too, and then he kisses Dean again. Dean's arms wrap around his back, palms splayed across his shoulders and spine, and Dean's hips are hard against Sam's-- his cock even harder.

"I didn't get you a present," Dean says, shucking off his jeans and pulling Sam's down to his thighs.

"You never get me a present," Sam protests, pulling Dean up against him again. For half a moment he expects the sharp dig of Dean's amulet between them, and missing it hurts worse than the warm metal ever did.

Dean's laugh is muted against Sam's shoulder, and he pushes Sam backwards onto his bed. Sam sits hard and falls back, throwing his arms above his head, and lets Dean tug his jeans and shorts off and throw them behind him.

Sam keeps his eyes on Dean as his brother crawls onto the bed with him, bracketing Sam's hips with his knees. Sam reaches for him, but Dean shakes his head and presses Sam back with another deep, slow kiss. Sam relaxes into the scratchy motel coverlet and slowly takes handfuls of it in his fists as Dean sucks a mark into the muscle of his shoulder.

Dean's cock is hard between his thighs—thick and flushed with blood—and Sam wants to get his fingers around it, feel how it twitches and leaks in his hand. But Dean bites at his throat and his own cock jumps with excitement. He can feel how wet he is already, sticky and dripping on his own stomach, and Dean reaches down and touches his finger to Sam's tip and then puts it in his mouth.

Sam sucks in a breath, fingers clenching in the blanket, and Dean presses a wet kiss to a scar on Sam's ribs. Sam isn't sure why Dean fixates on his scars—a record of their lives, he theorizes—but Dean favors some over others. Sam doesn't remember where that scar came from, but Dean must.

Then Dean's done teasing, and he's stroking his hands up Sam's sides as he bends his head to take Sam in his mouth. It isn't a surprise, but Sam's hips lift of their own accord anyway, and Dean goes it with, sucking Sam down with a practiced ease that Sam thinks he ought to find strange.

Dean's mouth is hot and wicked, tongue working against the underside of Sam's cock, then swirling around the head as he pulls up, and then cushioning the slide back down. His throat flutters, opening up around Sam, and Sam grips the coverlet for leverage as he pushes up into his brother's mouth. Dean's hands are firm on his sides, holding him in place, and though his hips are flexing up he can't move very far.

He lets out a moan—Dean's name—and Dean pauses in his ministrations to let go of Sam's flank and stick one finger in his mouth alongside Sam's cock. Sam's whole body tenses immediately in hot anticipation, and he can feel his asshole clenching at the mere thought of Dean's finger pressing into him.

Dean doesn't disappoint, circling his hole only once with his wet finger before pushing it in, hard and insistent. Sam spreads his knees farther apart, heels digging into the bed, and Dean swallows around him at the same time, making him shudder as pleasure ripples through him. His blood is thudding heavy in his ears and his balls, throbbing with heat. He can feel sweat pricking on his stomach and running down his temples. Dean's other hand slips and skids up his chest to pinch his nipple.

Sam bears down on Dean's finger, shoving it deeper, and Dean moans around him, which makes Sam arch harder. Dean pulls off for a second and spits noisily into the crooked palm of his hand, and adds a second finger with the meager lubrication. He licks up the underside of Sam's cock as he rocks his hand against Sam's ass, pressing deep and rubbing along his inner walls. He keeps brushing the edges of Sam's spot, never quite touching it directly, and Sam's starting to shake with the anticipation. He can feel the trembling in his biceps and thighs, and Dean mouths the head of his cock innocently.

Finally Dean lets go of Sam's chest and angles his cock in his fist so he can swallow Sam down again, at the same moment as he rubs insistently directly across Sam's prostate. Sam shouts, head thrown back, chest heaving, and Dean circles his spot deliberately, head bobbing and mouth working.

Sam's spewing obscenities, praising Dean's mouth and his fingers and taking the Lord's name in vain, and Dean squeezes him harder with his fist and starts jacking him along with the movement of his mouth. He doesn't add a third finger, and Sam wants him to, but he's caught up in the rising wave of pleasure, pinned between Dean's hot mouth and familiar fingers.

His ears are roaring with the sound of Dean's choked breathing and the absurd noises coming from his own throat, and his orgasm is approaching fast and hard, white lightning down his spine. Gone is the motel room, the inconsequential discomfort of the bed, the mediocre dinner. All that's left is Dean's mouth and Dean's hands and Dean's body, hard and heavy on Sam's legs, and the thick pulsing of Sam's cock.

Sam tries to warn him, tries to say something useful, but his voice catches in his throat and he's too late, back bowing and body tensing as he starts to come, spurting in Dean's mouth. Dean makes a noise that might be approval and swallows fast, rubbing Sam inside ceaselessly. Sam shudders and grits his teeth and he's still fucking coming, and then Dean is sliding his fingers out and bringing him down gently. He rides out the end of the orgasm with his eyes closed, breath coming in shattered gasps, reaching now for Dean's shoulders.

Dean comes easily, eagerly, climbing atop him and slamming their mouths together. Sam can taste his come on Dean's tongue, and he curls his hand around Dean's cock and jerks it fast and hard, rubbing the tip with his thumb and holding Dean's head in place with his other hand. He licks into Dean's mouth, moaning, and Dean goes still as he comes all over Sam's stomach, shooting wet and sticky across his abs.

"Ah, jesus," Sam says as Dean goes limp on top of him, face pressed to his throat. Dean mumbles in agreement and heaves a breath. Then he props himself up on his elbows and grins weakly at Sam. His eyes are shining green and his face is pink with exertion, his freckles standing out against the flush. His lips are swollen and abused red, and he looks utterly pleased with himself. Sam only has to tilt his chin up to kiss him.

So far, Sam thinks, twenty seven isn't bad.


End file.
